For her upcoming EPSwan Meat has built on the “fleshy amalgam” of her visceral club music sound, molding it “into a monster both terrifying and lush”. Her new poems evoke the cyborg imaginary of organic and technological references that are scattered throughout FLESHWORLD, from which two singles ‘SUCKLING’ and ‘LITERALLY SEETHING’ have been released. In her remix of the former single premiering today titled ‘SUCKLING GROWN’, Swan Meat delivers a dystopian techno warehouse anthem, closing the loop between her written and musical practices by incorporating spoken word from her poems into the track’s closing textures.**

The tusk I drive into the song is a needleDarning minnows’ heartThe song is the stem of the lungs sprouting wings & fungi

Here I am wringingmy spleen again into rows & rows of keycapsSo greasy they might comeloose if only to laugh at me, at me& flake rapidly as cotton candy

Or spliced MIDIBeak of crow Bobbed dog’s tail A voice inside a wasps’ nest callingSong of crushed glass A kick drum inside-out Is actually an ocarina

in a dungeon on FleshworldWhere even the bats are DJsBut they’ve slept for years now. Don’t worry

Swan Meat. Photo by Frederike Wetzels. Image courtesy the artist.

LITERALLY SEETHING

A skiff for dust mites in the time domainThis broken nail& on sweat ferried ashoreOar a needle prickingA whiff of sound thenA murder of whiteheads in the phasorThis kite of skin is spectral & hoversmoonlike & for my haters, clouds& the becoming mallowof tumours: with this knifeWith this clamour of fog& noise as my witnessI clog the pores of the earthBut for one mouth gaping,wanting coin. One wafer purloinedmeans 5 minutes of gameplaythen with translucent shellscurry on, little radian:game over. For lust & limbo, coefficientsand gluttony, UFOsHarmonics for greed, sin of not beingblind. My drive toward potentialsticks w/ the trouble& kills numbers, yanking crowsfrom the sky and Styxfrom the thick of “god’s” viscous drag.

MECHANICAL BULLGIRL

versus Trojan horse in octagon:

A yolk of tar,

My mechanical bull’s heart

Her coat a swath of noise

& hooves dancing morsecode

slumps of MIDI thru glass-pane

Or project file buttered in frost

One leg, then the other

For her hunger: a roil of diamonds in a blender

Hello deepest hole says the oil spill

where I shine her calves

Into raindrops, fundamentals

& cranes pull rocks from clusters

So many beaks chattering the animal me can’t take it

nor these fireflies peppering our kludge

giving us diseases

& then turning the switch on her back

like a loose tooth stopping ribbons of blood,

melted snakestongue; cherry punch; she dances

her always-creaking the grey milk of everything

Swan Meat. Photo by Frederike Wetzels. Image courtesy the artist.

EUGENIA MARIONETTE

We take it for granted that knuckles are breakbeatsCan you amputate a snare I asked Siri& she burped which is fair — like wrenching a wad

of gum with a cudgel from the darkannals of an eye socketthere’s things one must destroy completely:Cantos, bitrates, muscles, girls

I know because I’m an atom, I make them& watch my mildew puppetsdance on fawnlegs in the sun & when they’re hungry

a fleck of skin, here & there,while the trees weep maple syrup in droves for no one.Oh fuck it — are you happy yet, little kewpie?I’ve told you all you need to know.My dark horse Fourier rots among stones & mermaids

underneath a lake of milky zeroes & its my fault,there was nothing left to pummel:neither frequency nor spare rib. Might I a spider in his honour

weave a flag of retinae & drive itinto the flurry of the earth? A nervous system eternal,relentless, inevitable, which is also a bag of soapwaiting to pop? Not yet.

Can you crucify a song? Yes.

Swan Meat. Photo by Frederike Wetzels. Image courtesy the artist.

DENTISTS TOYS COME OUT @ NIGHT

And so the hollowed out domesof horseshoe crabs became my bedshoes& traipsing the gums of earth as I didmy steps rung out like popcorn foley thru compressor:

oh but if I could pluckthe sound from the sand & then againstmy cheek hold it like an iPhone or a baby cow.

But I am confined to sea, an urchin& pump my arms always(forever?) through sourcelessdial tone pudding. A gutted fish stuffedwith couscous & gravel. A fuligincloak… This is whatit feels like to “be on drugs,” by the way.

This cavity is sinister!It’s a seed in an empty coffin.& as orgiastic laughing gas leaksits perfume through left cheek’s wombdentist’s toys come out to play with their bells

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